


Absolution

by superfluouskeys



Category: Prisoner (TV), Prisoner: Cell Block H
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/F, but she is a troubled lady so i can't just have my trash can i, but tbh it's pretty tame overall, i have to deal w her emotional issues, i wrote this because i'm thirsty for joan, just you know, the usual, this is garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 06:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14587311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfluouskeys/pseuds/superfluouskeys
Summary: It seems a cruel trick that Terri should have ruined everything so completely before she could even understand her own desire.





	Absolution

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I just wanted to write some questionable 80's Joan smut, what can I say? I tried to push myself to be a little more explicit than I usually go, but it still ended up pretty tame, honestly--I know I probably could have taken it a lot further, given how harsh she can be with prisoners, but she's so sweet with Terri, it just didn't work for me hahaha. Aaaaanyway, hope you enjoy my angsty trash!

Sometimes, when she's trapped pretending to listen to a particularly boring client for a particularly long time, Terri's mind offers up helpful observations about the state of her life.  Today, it is this: _you have ruined everything._

It's sudden, so abrupt Terri almost winces, but much as she'd like to believe the thought has come out of nowhere, she knows the truth.  They were so happy before.  So happy, and then she had to go and _ruin everything_.

She didn't mean to, she reasons, it just happened, one minute happy, the next, arguing, and Joan didn't even want her around anymore, let alone—but that isn't right, is it?

They haven't had sex in weeks.  Maybe more than a month.  It feels like an eternity.  Not since Terri started her new job, or was it before?  Since she left Wentworth?  Since the newspaper, since her mother, since...?

 _There's Barry_ , a part of her has the gall to respond, but the mere suggestion turns her stomach.  It all turned out so wrong so quickly.  She wanted Joan to be angry, she wanted a fight, so she could say, look, see, this is better, this is easier, but Joan didn't fight, barely even raised her voice.

Joan asked her to stay, and there's this mad, manic part of her that keeps trying to insist that she's done nothing wrong, that it just happened, that it was bound to happen, even, when Terri knows very well that it isn't true.

There's Barry, and a night out with Barry invariably ends in sex, because that's just what men are like, she reasons, always pushing and pulling at you even if you really don't feel up to it, maybe haven't in awhile now—because that's why she hasn't had sex with Joan in so long—was why, before—because she really didn't feel up to it, and Joan doesn't push.

And so days turned into weeks turned into...god, how long has it been?

"...don't you agree, sweetheart?"

"Hm?  Oh, yes," Terri nods emphatically.  The client, who ought to have left half an hour ago, accepts her dull response without question, and keeps talking.

Terri misses working at Wentworth.  She didn't want to admit how unhappy she'd been to leave, and she really did like the new job at first, but even if it weren't for the whole Barry dilemma, there's something strangely demeaning about her position that's starting to sit wrong with her.  Her job is to be sweet and fun and accommodating, and to let people like this fellow ramble at her for hours when she could be finishing up her paperwork and going home early, so the men can do all the real work in peace.

For all its flaws, Wentworth wasn't like that.  There was talk of the odd male officer who deemed himself inexplicably superior, but they never lasted long, and even if people would prefer you to be more pleasant, there wasn't all that much they could say if you weren't.

Maybe it's a little strange to look back on, but Terri came to love catching a glimpse of Joan at work.  She was sharper, crueler when no one was watching her, but Terri understood that rather quickly.  Someone like Meg Morris might be able to rule with kindness, but people didn't take to Joan that way.  Joan did what she felt she had to do.

Beyond that, it was...well, it was more than a little exciting, bearing witness to the sort of power Joan wields.  Terri feels herself smiling, feels her fingers digging into her thigh beneath her desk at the memory.  She remembers this strange rush of nerves she used to feel when Joan snapped at someone, the giddiness at the curious juxtaposition of Joan with everyone else and Joan when they were alone together, all soft and hesitant and endlessly accommodating.

Maybe it's different now, now that Terri has ruined everything.

The client finishes talking at her and stands to leave, and instead of shaking her proffered hand, he kisses it, and she forces a laugh.  When he leaves, Barry enters, and Terri feels a curious sort of exhaustion at the sight of him.

"How's my best girl?" he opens.

"Tired."  Terri can feel how forced her smile must look, but Barry doesn't seem to notice.

"Well," he continues jovially, and Terri very nearly winces when his moustache brushes her cheek as he kisses her, "how about we order in tonight?"

"Oh," Terri sighs, shoulders herself gently away from him, "thanks, Barry, but I can't."

"Why not?" he asks.

She knows he doesn't even really mean to be pushy, that it's a perfectly reasonable thing to ask, but she's spent nearly every night this week in his company, because why not?  Joan is upset with her when she's home at all, and when Terri is alone all she can think about is how she's _ruined everything._

"I just can't, all right?" Terri doesn't really mean to snap, and guilt washes over her when she sees the way Barry's brow furrows.

"Have I done something wrong?"

Terri runs a hand through her hair and pushes it out of her face.  "No, no, I'm just..." she looks up, forces another thin, terrible imitation of a smile.  "I just need some time to myself, that's all."

Maybe it's true.  Or maybe she's hoping without any reason for something else.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, that cruel little voice is offering up a memory of something Joan said recently, something like _all she wanted was to spend Saturday at home together_ , and you had to go and ruin everything.

When at last Barry departs, Terri collapses into her chair and flips idly through the last of her paperwork for the day.  If she calls upon a bit of focus, she can leave early, maybe pick up something Joan would like.  Flowers?  No, Joan doesn't like flowers.  Food?  She doesn't even know what time Joan is getting off work, and they barely take meals together anymore, and oh, how has Terri managed to _ruin everything_ so quickly?

Terri sighs heavily to her empty office and leans back in her chair.  She thinks back to the first time she really spoke to Joan, when she'd gotten overwhelmed on her first day alone at the reception desk and H-Block's most notoriously unforgiving officer had been the one to catch her.  She thinks of the intensity in Joan's gaze as she contemplated Terri, the way Terri had seen her barking orders and arguing vehemently with one of the other officers not a few hours prior, and she remembers the thrill that coursed through her when Joan said _our little secret_.

In the present, Terri takes in a shuddering breath and releases her vise-grip on her own thigh.  There's a kind of tension building somewhere in her lower abdomen that she hasn't felt in what seems like forever, and now that she thinks of it, she can't bring herself to remember the last time she felt this way.

She couldn't wrap her head around it that first day.  She knew the feeling well, but the context seemed all wrong.  It seems a cruel trick that she should have ruined everything so completely before she could understand her own desire.

Terri rushes through the paperwork and hurries to leave before anyone else can stop her for a chat.  It's really too cold, and looks like it might start pouring down rain at any second, but the solitary walk and the burn of cold air in her lungs somehow calm her significantly.

Mercifully, Joan isn't home yet when she arrives.  She makes herself some tea and something to eat while she waits, but neither leaves her feeling particularly satisfied.

It's about six when she hears a car pull up, and the sound sends a shock of nerves through her.  Terri struggles to focus on steadying the clattering teacup in her hands, but all her attention is trained upon the front door.  She doesn't even know what she's expecting.

"Terri?"  Joan used to call her name with a kind of muted joy whenever she got home.  Now it's tentative, like a plea.  Like she...

It's like she expects Terri to be gone.

Terri abandons her teacup, and Joan's gaze falls to her in response to the sound.  She looks worried, and tense.  "Oh.  I...thought you'd be working late."

Terri stands on shaking legs, can't imagine what her expression must look like.  "No," she says, breathless.  "I..." she searches for the words that fail her, thinks of what Joan said about Saturdays, what feels like a lifetime ago, and in the end, she shrugs.  "I wanted to be here."

Joan's expression doesn't change.  "Oh."

Terri approaches slowly, notes how Joan hasn't moved, how Joan's hand hasn't left the door handle, thinks about how she's never seen Joan looking so uncertain.  "Are you all right, Joan?"

Joan inhales, hesitates, and withdraws her hand from the doorknob at last.  "Yes, fine," she says with a very unsuccessful attempt at lightness.  As Terri grows nearer, she averts her eyes, glances around nervously like she doesn't know what to do, and finally settles upon hanging her coat.

She turns back, eyes still downcast, but when her hands find the lapels of her uniform jacket, Terri stays them.

Joan looks up, eyes wide, brow furrowed.  God, how long has it been since they've been even this close?  Since their hands have touched?

Terri attempts a lopsided smile, even as nerves twist her stomach.  "Leave it on," she says, with a little tilt of her head.  "I've missed seeing you on the job."

Joan raises her eyebrows, lets out a little huff of bewilderment.  "No one else seems to enjoy it very much."

Terri trails her fingertips along the lapels of Joan's uniform jacket, follows the path they take with her eyes as she works up the courage for something she's barely worked out in the privacy of her own mind.  "I've always admired your work," she says, quietly.  "Strange, that no one else seems to understand, when someone is bad..." she looks up, "she ought to be punished."

Joan's lip twitches almost imperceptibly, and she narrows her eyes.

Terri swallows hard, struggles to ignore the pounding of her own heart in her ears.  "Don't you agree," she continues, "Miss Ferguson?"

Joan's expression changes gradually, from skeptical studiousness to wide-eyed disbelief, and what little courage Terri had scrapped together is shattered.  "I was only playing, Joan," she says as she retreats, clasps her hands in front of herself and trains her eyes downward. "I hope I haven't—" _made everything worse_ , she almost says.  "—offended you."

For what feels like an eternity, they stand in utter silence, Joan watching Terri while Terri watches the floor, wondering what could possibly have possessed her to try to bridge the gap between them like this, wondering what she could have done that would have been better, and thinking, _anything_.

Outside, thunder rumbles in the distance, and this seems to spur Joan forward at last.  Terri doesn't know what to expect.  Will Joan leave?  Ask Terri to leave?  Pretend this never happened?  Ask her what the hell has gotten into her?

Her footsteps are slow, ever-deliberate, and Terri wills herself to look up in fractions, from shoes to knees to the hem of her uniform jacket.  Joan's hands are folded behind her back.

"I don't play games," she says, with an edge to her voice Terri can't quite place, until she adds, lower, richer, darker, "Miss Malone."

Terri looks up sharply, more than a little stunned, but she can feel herself smiling, feel that old familiar thrill of nerves and giddiness welling up inside her as she meets Joan's piercing gaze.

Joan doesn't move.  She watches Terri, waiting to see how she'll respond.  With her head held high and her shoulders squared, it would be easy to miss the uncertainty still lingering about the set of her brow.

"Of course not," says Terri, struggling to regain her composure and to think of how to proceed all at once.  "And...perhaps I wasn't exactly playing."

The slow, steady step Joan takes towards her feels monumental.  "Then what, _exactly_ , are you doing?" Joan wonders, low and dark as the distant thunder.

Terri takes a step backward, but it's far more an invitation than a retreat.  "Asking," she says, as though it's a fully formed thought, for the words don't come easily to her.  _Asking, asking for..._

Joan looms over her now, and there's the faintest beginning of a smirk playing at her lips.  "You know," she says quietly, "most of the criminals I deal with don't like it when I so much as get near them."

Terri tries to swallow, but her throat has gone dry.  "I'm...afraid that doesn't apply to me, Miss Ferguson."

Joan's lips quirk upward, her smile finally realized.  When she takes another step forward, Terri steps back on pure instinct and finds herself against the door at the end of the front hall.  "No," Joan agrees, "I suppose not."

Terri shivers under the intensity of her gaze, feels tension building between her thighs and curls her fingers into useless fists against the door.

Joan inclines her head sharply in the direction of their bedroom, and Terri obeys without hesitation.

She turns on the lamp as she enters the room, and the sight of it washes over her like cold, sickening shame.  She's got her own room, but it's not where she sleeps—it's not where she slept before, anyway, but she reasons that they've been keeping such different hours that she oughtn't to disturb Joan just to lie next to her and touch her only by accident.

She's got her own room, almost an exact mirror of this one across the hall, but that's where she betrayed Joan, and she can't seem to tire herself out enough to stop thinking about it.

Joan closes the door quietly behind them, and Terri whirls around to face her.  She can't imagine how Joan stands it when the knowledge is tearing her apart.

Joan watches her a moment, narrows her eyes studiously, before she says, "Get undressed."

This, the knowledge that Joan is playing along with Terri's silly game in spite of everything, that there's still a spark between them that stands a chance of being rekindled, momentarily pushes the unpleasant memories to the back of Terri's mind, and she finds herself hiding a smile once more.  She reaches for the first button of her blouse and makes to turn away, but Joan's hand, heavy on her shoulder, catches her almost as quickly as the thought has formed.

"Don't turn away from me, Malone," she says, sharply, but with an exaggerated seriousness that hints at her humour.

Terri bites her lip and averts her gaze as she complies.  She's not wearing anything particularly fancy, or even anything she particularly likes.  Her new job expects her to dress nicely, and Barry prefers that she wear pretty underthings—the lacier and more impractical, the better—but she wasn't expecting to go out tonight, and as some impossibly silly act of rebellion wore an old bra that's fraying in the back and panties that don't match.

She pulls her blouse back off her shoulders and casts it aside, and moves on to unfastening her skirt.  She dares a glance upward and feels the thrill of meeting Joan's gaze like an electric shock.  Not much about her stance has changed, but there's a softness about her lips and a heaviness about her eyes that indicates she doesn't mind one bit about Terri's worn out old bra.

Terri bends down to step out of her skirt and closes her eyes a moment as another unwelcome memory flashes across her vision.  Barry leaning a hand on the wall, blocking her exit, Barry saying, _yes, yes, we must be off, but first I ought to have a tour_ , Barry closing the door behind them, advancing, telling her all these nonsense things about what a good employee she was, how they were—how he was so lucky to have her...

Terri considers stepping out of her stockings while she's here, but thinks better of it.  Instead, she deposits her skirt with her blouse and turns the chair by the door to face where Joan hasn't moved.  She sits and draws one knee up to her chest, and she hazards a glance upward as she pulls off her stocking unnecessarily slowly.

It has the desired effect.  Joan's lips part ever so slightly, and Terri is sure she hears the faintest hitch in Joan's breathing.

Once she's done the same with the other stocking, she looks up at Joan, waiting, and Joan approaches.  There's a certain swagger in her step when she is feeling confident, and Terri realizes it's been an eternity since she's witnessed it.  Joan looms over her a moment, rakes her eyes downward and back up again with that steady deliberation she brings to even the simplest motions, and then she reaches out one hand and brushes the backs of her fingers against Terri's cheek.

Terri's eyelids flutter closed of their own accord, and she hears her own breathing hitch.  Joan twirls one of Terri's curls about her finger and leans down, lips just brushing the tip of Terri's ear.  "Did I say 'stop', Miss Malone?"

And god, it feels so good to have her near that Terri very nearly abandons the whole conceit for the release of a warm embrace, but oh, Joan is so good at this that Terri can't help but need to know what will happen if she lets it play out a little longer.

So she leans in ever so slightly, relishes another little brush of Joan's lips against her ear before she retreats, and she offers up a breathless, "No, Miss Ferguson," before she reaches back to unclasp her bra.

Joan draws herself up to her full height and folds her hands behind her back once more, looming over Terri as she slips her underwear over her hips.  It's a curious sensation, vulnerable yet strangely thrilling, to be completely naked while Joan stands above her, not only completely clothed, but in full uniform, and the mere thought sends a shiver coursing through her that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Joan moves at last, and Terri's heart flutters hopefully, but instead of toward or away, Joan moves to circle the chair where she's settled herself.  "Tell me something, Miss Malone," she says quietly.  "What do you think about, when you're all alone?  What..." she stops, just beyond Terri's field of vision, "... _excites_ you?"

It's a good question, and one for which Terri isn't certain she has a ready answer.  She marvels again at how good Joan is at this, and how Terri is struggling to keep up with a game she initiated.  Nevermind the last time she had sex, or the last time she really wanted to, when was the last time she had taken her pleasure into her own hands?

At the moment, she's rested her hands on her knees, and she finds herself struggling to keep them there while she thinks.  Maybe Joan sees the way her knuckles turn white as she digs her fingers into the skin of her thighs, for she adds, in a voice both cold and rich, "Go on.  Perhaps it'll jog your memory."

Terri inhales a little too sharply.  She feels a fresh wave of nerves, cold and creeping, and much as she struggled to stay still a moment prior, now she has to close her eyes before she can even begin to consider parting her legs, or moving her hands.

It's just that she grew up thinking it was something a lady shouldn't do, and once she got past that, she usually had someone around to take care of that sort of thing for her.  Or maybe it's more, she thinks, as she trails her fingertips along the inside of her thigh.  Maybe it's that she never thinks about what she wants until it's too late, until she's allowed someone else to decide for her.

Touching herself feels strange and embarrassing at first, even though just the barest brush of her fingertips sends a jolt of pleasure through her, and even though the formidable wetness between her legs serves as a clear reminder of how much she is enjoying their game.

"It was..." Terri manages, and very nearly loses her nerve after those two words alone.  "It was the way you looked at me, that day you covered for me at the reception desk.  That night, I...it seemed so strange, completely unrelated, but I..."

She can feel Joan draw nearer, lean down just shy of her ear.  "You?" she presses, but her voice has grown just as breathless as Terri's.

"I...thought of you," Terri all but whispers.  She squeezes her eyes closed, feels a jolt of pleasure at the memory.  "I thought of you...watching me."

The quiet, shuddering intake of breath this elicits from Joan is more than enough to push her over the edge.  Terri feels her body contract, grasps at the edge of her chair and leans into her own touch, thinks about Joan watching her even as she cannot bring herself to open her eyes, and the release she finds feels both monumental and incomplete.  She needs Joan to touch her now, perhaps even more than before.

Like an answer to her unspoken prayer, she feels Joan's fingers just barely teasing at her hair, feels the warmth of Joan's presence behind her and leans back in the hopes of experiencing more of it.  Terri hasn't quite managed to open her eyes yet, but Joan seems to comply with her silent wish.  She combs her fingers through Terri's hair in silence for what seems both a long time and little more than a few seconds.

Outside there's another rumble of thunder, louder than before.  When at last Joan speaks, it's the furthest thing from what Terri expects, her voice far softer than the approaching storm.  "Can you not even bear to look at me, Terri?"

Terri opens her eyes and twists around.  "What?"

Joan's expression is impassive, but there's a storm in her eyes.  "Have to close your eyes to get off?" she wonders coolly.  "What do you really picture, I wonder?  I can't imagine finding that man's face attractive, but then, I wouldn't know, would I?"

"Joan, stop."  Terri suddenly feels very exposed.  She wraps her arms about herself, but it does little to ease the sensation.  "It isn't like that."

Joan moves again, circling back around into her field of vision.  "Is this it, for you?" she presses, sharper, colder.  "The scary prison officer, watching you?  Pining?  Pathetic?" she sneers.

"No!" Terri cries, but she can't look up, and she keeps on folding into herself, arms across her chest and knees drawn up to shield herself, and from what?

Joan chuckles, cruel and mirthless.  "You must fancy yourself quite the victim."

"Stop it!" Terri shrieks, but she can already hear the cracks in her own voice, can feel treacherous tears threatening to spill over.

"Why should I?" Joan demands.  "You've had your fun, now I want an answer.  Is this what you play at with your new boss, too, or is this a privilege reserved for the Freak?"

Outside there's a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning, and rain starts pouring down in sheets.  Terri looks up, tears streaming down her cheeks, but no longer so concerned with her nakedness.  Joan stands before her, fully clothed and seething, and yet with this question she's rendered herself far more vulnerable.

Terri reaches for Joan's hands, but Joan shakes her off and turns away sharply.  She takes in a shuddering breath, just barely audible over the pouring rain, and leans an arm against the opposing wall.

"I don't understand this, Terri," she says at last, little more than a raspy whisper.  "I wanted to play along, I wanted to...to make you happy, but I—"  She bows her head.  "I don't understand."

Terri stands on unsteady legs, approaches tentatively, grasping for something to say, struggling to understand, herself.  "I'm sorry, Joan," she breathes. 

She reaches out, stays her hand just shy of Joan's shoulder when Joan scoffs and says, "For what?"

Terri's hand falls useless at her side.  "All of it," she says simply.  "I never meant to hurt you, I never even wanted Barry, it just..."  _It just happened_ , she'd said over and over, and now she can hear how stupid it sounds even before the words fully form.  "I know I'm a coward.  I was scared, and everything was happening so fast, and I got cornered and I just..." she opens her hands, gesticulates vaguely at nothing.  "I let it happen.  I ruined everything."

Joan sighs again.  Her hand falls from its place against the wall.  Terri reaches out again, touches the center of her back lightly and meets no resistance.  "I'm so sorry, Joan," she whispers, daring another step nearer.  "I miss you. I guess I—" she sighs, bows her head.  "I guess maybe I wanted to know if you missed me, too."

Joan turns her head, but she still isn't quite looking at Terri.  "Of course I do."

Terri dares another step closer and reaches for the collar of Joan's uniform jacket.  She pulls it off, and Joan allows it without comment.  When Joan finally turns to face her, it's the same Joan who first arrived home, wide-eyed and searching, at a loss for how to proceed.

Terri reaches for the knot of Joan's tie, and another, sweeter memory finds her.  "Do you remember the first time you kissed me?" she asks out loud, in explanation of her sudden smile.

Joan doesn't quite move, doesn't quite react.  "How could I forget?" she says quietly.

"You'd been so...steady before that," says Terri.  "I never expected you to be so nervous."

Joan lets out a little huff of laughter.  "What were you expecting? That performance a few moments ago?"

Terri looks up, but she's relieved to see Joan wearing a soft smile of her own.  Terri allows herself to laugh quietly.  "Maybe, a little."

Joan's smile falters, and her brow furrows subtly.  "Were you disappointed?  Be honest."

Terri momentarily abandons her machinations upon the buttons of Joan's shirt to take Joan's face in her hands.  "No," she assures her.  "Not at all—it was..."  She shakes her head, closes her eyes in a vain attempt to stay the onslaught of fresh tears at the beauty of the memory.

She feels Joan's thumb catching her tears and opens her eyes.  "It was beautiful," she finishes at last.

"What is this, Terri?" Joan asks her gently.

"Please forgive me, Joan," Terri breathes.  "I was stupid and I got scared and I..."  She shakes her head.  "I ruined everything.  I just want to make it up to you."

Joan doesn't say anything for awhile, and the rain outside seems to grow even louder to fill the silence between them.  She brushes the backs of her fingers against Terri's cheek, twists one of Terri's curls around her finger, but she doesn't even attempt to speak.

Terri leans in with painstaking slowness, offering Joan ample time to refuse her, but she doesn't, and when their lips meet, Terri feels rather than hears a soft moan against her lips.  Joan wraps her arms around Terri almost in fragments, from arms to shoulder to back before she pulls Terri close, and the thunder and lightning and pouring rain outside are nothing compared to the deluge of joy in her heart.

When at last they part, each bearing a breathless, lopsided smile, Terri's hands find the button she'd abandoned on Joan's shirt awhile ago.  "Though I must say," says Terri, playing at un- and re-fastening the button, "for someone who claims she doesn't enjoy games, you were very good earlier."

Joan responds with a little huff of amusement.  "You don't go through life the way I have without meeting at least a few women with a little taste for power."

Terri looks up, surprised and not a little delighted.  "But you glean no pleasure from it whatsoever, of course," she teases.

Joan raises her chin and adopts a faux-serious expression.  "Of course not.  And I'll thank you to stop testing my patience with that button, Miss Malone."

Terri laughs, loud and full, and she can't resist kissing Joan again before she's fully regained control of herself.  She makes short work of Joan's shirt and slacks, and practically shoves Joan back onto the bed.

Time seems to slow down for awhile after that, Terri on top of Joan with her fingers in Joan's hair, and Joan with her arms wrapped tightly around Terri's waist while they kiss, and even the rain outside dies down a little.  "I missed you so much, Joan," Terri murmurs against her lips, and even that doesn't seem to encapsulate the half of what she feels.

"I missed you, too, Terri," Joan murmurs back, though, and for the moment, it is more than enough.

Terri pulls away to look at Joan, revels in the way her eyelids flutter open, her gaze somehow still piercing even in such a state.  Terri grins and steals one more kiss before she moves to Joan's neck, kisses the spot just behind her ear while her hands find the clasp of Joan's bra, and quickly moves her exploration downward.

It's been so _long_ , and the realization washes over her with such a force that she feels compelled to rest her cheek against the subtle rise of Joan's breasts before she can find the strength to appreciate them properly.  It's been so long, and it's all her fault.  Joan has been here, waiting, never pushing, while Terri has been indulging some heinous list of delusions, and she could have been kissing Joan, could have felt the sheer bliss that is Joan's body flush against hers, could have known the exquisite beauty that is Joan naked before her.

Well, almost.  Terri draws herself up onto her knees and traces her hands downward, but before she's even reached the band of Joan's underwear, Joan stops her.

"Terri, you don't—" Joan begins, then hesitates.

Terri looks up.

"You don't have to—to make anything up to me, not...not like this.  You don't have to—" she frees one of Terri's hands only to gesture vaguely.

This, too, Terri realizes, is something she's never put much thought into.  Perhaps never enough.  It's been so long, she thinks again, and when she considers it, she realizes that Joan almost always pushed her hands away, almost always said, _another time, love_ , or _don't worry about it_ , or...or _you don't have to_.

Terri thought perhaps she wasn't any good, or Joan just didn't enjoy it, but now, faced so abruptly with the insecurity Joan has hidden so thoroughly until recently, Terri wonders whether her hesitancy might have another cause.

Terri leans back down, threads her fingers through Joan's hair.  "I know I don't have to, Joan," she says.  "Suppose I want to?"

Joan considers her a moment.  The rain picks up again, and a flash of lightning illuminates the lines of constant worry etched into her face.  "Are you sure?"

Terri is seized by the urge to laugh, and the urge to cry.  The surprised huff that serves as her first response is a little bit of both.  "Of course I'm sure," she says gently.

She thinks about Barry without really wanting to, so strong and so sure and so jovial and so uncomplicated, thinks about how he never thought twice about pushing and pulling his way into her bedroom, about playing at the power disparity between them, even about something so simple as undressing.

She looks at Joan and thinks about Barry and his normal, non-piercing eyes and his normal, uninteresting face and she shakes her head until the image fades.  What has she been playing at?

Joan averts her eyes as she allows Terri to remove her underwear, and though she does her best to seem unaffected, Terri can hear the way her breathing has gone ragged.  Terri leans in for another kiss, lingers for another when she feels the way Joan all but whimpers against her lips.  Joan looks up and reaches out to cup Terri's cheek gently, and it's the first time Terri thinks, perhaps, she hasn't completely ruined everything.

Spurred on by this minuscule flicker of hope, Terri leaves a trail of kisses down Joan's neck, along her collarbone, all over her breasts and down the trail of dark hair that starts just below her navel.  Even as the rain and the thunder outside grow impossibly louder, every quiet gasp she elicits from Joan as she makes her descent seems infinitely more monumental.

Terri settles herself between Joan's legs, feels a fresh flicker of anticipation coursing through her as she traces her fingertips along the inside of Joan's muscular thighs, feels a fresh flicker of warmth when one of Joan's hands finds hers, not to stay it, but to hold.

Terri laces her fingers with Joan's, and with her free hand, she traces the swollen pink lips between Joan's thighs.  "Oh, Joan," she breathes in wonderment, and she leans in to press a kiss to the spot her fingers have abandoned.

Joan inhales sharply.  Terri feels a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.  This time, when she leans in, she leads with her tongue.

And oh, it is glorious.

Joan's grip tightens on Terri's hand, and after a few particularly well-executed applications of her tongue, Joan's free hand finds its way into Terri's hair.  Terri feels a moan escape her lips without her permission.  She wraps an arm about Joan's thigh and draws Joan's clit between her lips, and is rewarded not only with a soft moan, but a still tighter grip on her hand and her hair.

Terri flicks her tongue across Joan's clit, draws circles and figure-eights until she feels Joan's hands begin to tremble, sees in her periphery the way Joan's head arches back, hears the hitch in her quiet moans.

But when Joan reaches climax, it is unlike anything Terri could have imagined.  Instead of arching back, she contracts inward.  Her head and shoulders leave the bed, she trembles all over, and her grip is so strong it hurts, but Terri is far too enraptured to pay the pain any mind.  Indeed, she realizes with sudden clarity, this must be the first time she is witnessing such an occurrence, for how could she have missed it?  She vows with silent kisses to make up for time lost in the days to come.

She kisses Joan between her thighs again and again, for as long as she is allowed before Joan pulls her gently away.  Joan is so quiet, Terri can't even hear her ragged breathing until she pulls herself back up to settle her head beneath Joan's chin.

"You've been holding out on me, Miss Ferguson," she says.

Joan awards her a breathless chuckle, and runs her fingers gently through Terri's hair.  "I didn't know you...I mean, I didn't want you to feel obligated."

Terri props herself up on her elbow and claims Joan's hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.  "You've got a funny idea of obligation."

Joan considers Terri a moment, eyes narrowed studiously, but overall expression undeniably positive.  Her gaze falls to their intertwined hands, and she pulls Terri's hand to her lips to return the kiss.

"Although," Terri dares, tracing the angle of Joan's collarbone, "if you ever did want to leave that uniform on again, I certainly wouldn't complain."

Joan chuckles, her voice gone decidedly warm, and it gives Terri the courage to meet her eyes and gauge her expression.  She's smiling, but there's a glimmer in her eyes that sends a little shiver through Terri.

"What?" Terri presses.

Joan considers Terri a moment, adjusts her legs, and before Terri can wrap her mind around the change, Joan flips them over like it's nothing.  Terri lets out a little yelp as she reorients herself, makes to reach for Joan's face and finds her hands pinned to the bed.

A flash of lightning illuminates Joan's features.  Her smile has turned positively wicked.  "Who said we were finished?"

She'll have to end things with Barry.  She might have to find a new job, depending on how that goes.  She'll have to accept that her parents might never come round, that her mother would sooner die than have a daughter like her, that a multitude of other jobs and friendships might suffer for this.

She pushes herself up as far as she can without the use of her hands, enough to plant a kiss on the tip of Joan's nose, and Joan's confident smirk abruptly turns shy and sweet again.

All that remains, the only thing that baffles Terri now, is how she could possibly have thought that this wasn't worth the trouble.


End file.
